"Just read a tragic story about a little girl with cancer, Brutally made fun of, no cure, and no answers. See, the little girl started to lose all her hair, And not a single person in her life even cared. It seemed as if God wasn't there. But Jesus told me this saying before: "Without suffering, there would be no compassion." I was too young to understand when he told me before. But after reading this story this quote came forth. But God how do you choose the one's that suffer? The one's who go to war? Or that little girl neglected by her dad that grows up to be a whore? How could you possibly choose, the one's that must lose? Their loved ones, like my dad with his son. Or my friend's dad when his head met at his gun. I ask you every day God, why me? Why me! And he replies, Katie I know you're the one that needs the strength, and don't forget that your brother Michael still watches every move that you do, every thought that you think. Every night when your dad picks up that drink. You have two angels, but one of them is still on earth with you, So why did I choose you? Because I could see you were internally bleeding. Believing you couldn't succeed, couldn't achieve, the thoughts in your dreams. We saved you from dying in that seizure. And you are just as good, if not, better than the ones who precede ya. That little girl with cancer died. The mother was cold as stone, She couldn't even cry. The father was so heartbroken all he could do at the time was sigh, Until he picked up a needle and started to get high. Those parents are internally bleeding right now. Bleeding so viciously like the ink from your pen when you write. So don't you ever give up the fight. No one said I was choosing the lives that are worth losing. I do what is right, he told me, and that's life."
The quote above is a portion of a poem I wrote last year called, Internally Bleeding. This poem reflected a conversation I had with God. It wasn't an actual conversation I had with God, but almost an imaginative conversation. What provoked me to write this was after reading a story in English class about a girl with cancer. People brutally made fun of her because she had a tumor the size of a bowling ball on her face. People can be so cruel, some people go through absolute hell, that is why I had to write a compassionate piece in a tribute for the girl. This story really hit home with my emotions that I almost cried reading it. I was so compelled by the story of the girl having gone through so much suffering, so much pain, that I wanted the theme of my poem to be about compassion. I combined the struggles in the girl’s life with my own struggles and obstacles. It was interesting to see them intertwine and relate to each other. I have a passion on identifying and analyzing my emotions, along with everybody else's. I believe it is a healthier and effective way to cope with emotions than to bottle everything up inside. My personal expertise is not only identifying my insecurities and strengths, but also trying to find these aspects in other people. That was why I directed the true meaning behind that little girl's life.
It is funny because looking back and reading what was written really takes me back to that certain feeling or moment, that may have never crossed my mind having not read it. It almost helps me piece together how certain situations constructed my way of thinking, my drive, and my personality. Writing has been my ultimate gateway to freedom in what was called a “hostile” environment in my house.
In high school I took a Creative Writing course that allowed students, every morning, to write a journal entry about anything on their mind. I tried to stray from the vague topics like sports and school, but my home environment was impacting my thinking. Both my parents being absent-minded alcoholics have allowed me to take care of myself. Sometimes I got so depressed and overwhelmed by my parents’ health, it was taking a toll on my own health. I needed a way out, a healthy escape from reality. At least a way to get all of this stress off my chest. Once I write and the ink from my pen begins to bleed, I feel my own rush of euphoria. To get my thoughts out of my head and onto the piece of paper feels incredible. Every time I write a meaningful passage, I feel like I just went to a therapy session. It was my ultimate stress reliever, and possibly my savior from insanity.
One person that I could always write and share poetry with was my best friend from back home, Laurie Vinciullo. We both had similar situations happen to us in high school. Both of our families were began to crumble, and feeling so helpless, we reached out to each other. We always were there for each other. We shared an incredible bond having exchanging our poems to one another. We were absolutely stunned by how easily relatable we were when we expressed our feelings. We always felt like a weight was lifted off of our shoulders after reading our entries. Even though they were extremely personal, we knew whatever was said in our journals, would never leave either of our mouths. It was just a given trust. Laurie was definitely an aspect in my life that gave me that extra push to write. The encouragement we gave each other was enough to help us through the hard times.
The most rewarding part about writing in my journal is not only recording the milestones in my life, but to get closer and closer to a life-long dream of mine, which is to one day publish a book. It would be difficult to sit down one day in the future and write about my life on the spot, since most of the painful memories would be repressed, and forgotten. It is not meant to be a depressing story, but an inspirational, motivating story for any average, American kid overcoming obstacles in life. To ride the so-called “waves” of life requires falling off the surfboard. To ride the twists and turns, and navigating back to where you started is the ultimate goal for most of us. Not to just grow old, but to grow as a person is the ultimate goal for most of us. All I could ever wish for is to have my words in my writing to carry on even when I’m gone. For the truth not to be censored, but remembered and learned from.
If I were to give up on writing, I would mine as well have to stop living life, stop following my dreams. Writing poetry or writing in general gives me hope for a better tomorrow. When I begin to think things won’t get any better, I find a pen and paper to let all my feelings and frustrations out. On the surface of my personality I tend to have pessimistic thinking, but writing exercises the brain. It makes my imagination wander into the positive aspects I possess and to embrace the unknown journey to happiness. It is my coping mechanism for stress, and is a productive intellectual hobby. As my brain continues to wander, and analyze, the puzzle pieces to my life will begin to fall into place. Perhaps writing about the journey on the way, is my personal expertise.
Brutally made fun of, no cure, and no answers.
See, the little girl started to lose all her hair,
And not a single person in her life even cared.
It seemed as if God wasn't there.
But Jesus told me this saying before:
"Without suffering, there would be no compassion."
I was too young to understand when he told me before.
But after reading this story this quote came forth.
But God how do you choose the one's that suffer?
The one's who go to war?
Or that little girl neglected by her dad that grows up to be a whore?
How could you possibly choose, the one's that must lose?
Their loved ones, like my dad with his son.
Or my friend's dad when his head met at his gun.
I ask you every day God, why me? Why me!
And he replies, Katie I know you're the one that needs the strength,
and don't forget that your brother Michael still watches every move that you do,
every thought that you think.
Every night when your dad picks up that drink.
You have two angels, but one of them is still on earth with you,
So why did I choose you?
Because I could see you were internally bleeding.
Believing you couldn't succeed, couldn't achieve,
the thoughts in your dreams.
We saved you from dying in that seizure.
And you are just as good, if not, better than the ones who precede ya.
That little girl with cancer died.
The mother was cold as stone,
She couldn't even cry.
The father was so heartbroken all he could do at the time was sigh,
Until he picked up a needle and started to get high.
Those parents are internally bleeding right now.
Bleeding so viciously like the ink from your pen when you write.
So don't you ever give up the fight.
No one said I was choosing the lives that are worth losing.
I do what is right, he told me, and that's life."
The quote above is a portion of a poem I wrote last year called, Internally Bleeding. This poem reflected a conversation I had with God. It wasn't an actual conversation I had with God, but almost an imaginative conversation. What provoked me to write this was after reading a story in English class about a girl with cancer. People brutally made fun of her because she had a tumor the size of a bowling ball on her face. People can be so cruel, some people go through absolute hell, that is why I had to write a compassionate piece in a tribute for the girl. This story really hit home with my emotions that I almost cried reading it. I was so compelled by the story of the girl having gone through so much suffering, so much pain, that I wanted the theme of my poem to be about compassion. I combined the struggles in the girl’s life with my own struggles and obstacles. It was interesting to see them intertwine and relate to each other. I have a passion on identifying and analyzing my emotions, along with everybody else's. I believe it is a healthier and effective way to cope with emotions than to bottle everything up inside. My personal expertise is not only identifying my insecurities and strengths, but also trying to find these aspects in other people. That was why I directed the true meaning behind that little girl's life.
It is funny because looking back and reading what was written really takes me back to that certain feeling or moment, that may have never crossed my mind having not read it. It almost helps me piece together how certain situations constructed my way of thinking, my drive, and my personality. Writing has been my ultimate gateway to freedom in what was called a “hostile” environment in my house.
In high school I took a Creative Writing course that allowed students, every morning, to write a journal entry about anything on their mind. I tried to stray from the vague topics like sports and school, but my home environment was impacting my thinking. Both my parents being absent-minded alcoholics have allowed me to take care of myself. Sometimes I got so depressed and overwhelmed by my parents’ health, it was taking a toll on my own health. I needed a way out, a healthy escape from reality. At least a way to get all of this stress off my chest. Once I write and the ink from my pen begins to bleed, I feel my own rush of euphoria. To get my thoughts out of my head and onto the piece of paper feels incredible. Every time I write a meaningful passage, I feel like I just went to a therapy session. It was my ultimate stress reliever, and possibly my savior from insanity.
One person that I could always write and share poetry with was my best friend from back home, Laurie Vinciullo. We both had similar situations happen to us in high school. Both of our families were began to crumble, and feeling so helpless, we reached out to each other. We always were there for each other. We shared an incredible bond having exchanging our poems to one another. We were absolutely stunned by how easily relatable we were when we expressed our feelings. We always felt like a weight was lifted off of our shoulders after reading our entries. Even though they were extremely personal, we knew whatever was said in our journals, would never leave either of our mouths. It was just a given trust. Laurie was definitely an aspect in my life that gave me that extra push to write. The encouragement we gave each other was enough to help us through the hard times.
The most rewarding part about writing in my journal is not only recording the milestones in my life, but to get closer and closer to a life-long dream of mine, which is to one day publish a book. It would be difficult to sit down one day in the future and write about my life on the spot, since most of the painful memories would be repressed, and forgotten. It is not meant to be a depressing story, but an inspirational, motivating story for any average, American kid overcoming obstacles in life. To ride the so-called “waves” of life requires falling off the surfboard. To ride the twists and turns, and navigating back to where you started is the ultimate goal for most of us. Not to just grow old, but to grow as a person is the ultimate goal for most of us. All I could ever wish for is to have my words in my writing to carry on even when I’m gone. For the truth not to be censored, but remembered and learned from.
If I were to give up on writing, I would mine as well have to stop living life, stop following my dreams. Writing poetry or writing in general gives me hope for a better tomorrow. When I begin to think things won’t get any better, I find a pen and paper to let all my feelings and frustrations out. On the surface of my personality I tend to have pessimistic thinking, but writing exercises the brain. It makes my imagination wander into the positive aspects I possess and to embrace the unknown journey to happiness. It is my coping mechanism for stress, and is a productive intellectual hobby. As my brain continues to wander, and analyze, the puzzle pieces to my life will begin to fall into place. Perhaps writing about the journey on the way, is my personal expertise.